Need Not to Know
by shallowdweller
Summary: Set during Brown Eyed Girls, some backstory scenes and cannon subtext to explore why the brilliant Patrick Jane was so clueless about Lisbon's D.C. dilemma. I'm not sure if this qualifies as angst. But it probably comes pretty close to Jisbon, even though nobody is acting on it. Just like on the show. sigh.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes: It really bugged me that Jane would not at least realize during Brown Eyed Girls that something very serious was up with Lisbon. She isn't good at hiding her emotional responses when something bothers her, and Jane is intensely concerned with her well-being. But on reflection, it occurred to me that there were some very good reasons why he would actively avoid reading her at this point. So I started this story. Still working on this weekend's installment of Illusion of Control, which will be from Fischer's POV and involve the party house in Violets. But if people are interested in yet more Jisbon, I might see how far this story takes me, too.**

**Disclaimer: the Mentalist is the brainchild of some very talented minds, none of whom are me. But I'm glad none of them are stopping me from getting amusement (and no money) from exploring their world in my stories.**

Need Not to Know

He tried to repel the image from his mind. Lisbon leaning in, laughing, smiling with delight over the take-out food from her favorite Thai restaurant. Pike, confident, drinking in the vision of her pleasure, clearly expecting that it would ultimately lead to more. Just seeing the speculative look in Pike's eyes heightened Jane's feelings of urgency to go, get out of this building, find whatever was necessary to bring peace to the poor girl who had died right in front of him. He didn't want to see the silent questions flitting across the other agent's face. _How soon can I be alone with her again? What will it take to convince her to…_

Jane averted his eyes slightly, raised his mask once again, and willed his breathing and heartbeat to slow. He delivered his message quickly, trying to sound genuinely sorry that he had interrupt them, trying to sound as if it didn't matter to him that Lisbon was finally, finally coming with him in the Airstream to solve a case. Then he retreated quickly, not wanting to see just how sorry Teresa was to leave with him.

He knew that he had no business feeling irritated that Pike got credit for knowing that Lisbon appreciated some spice when he himself had known it for years. He had no right to feel uncomfortable about their subtle but very public displays of affection. At work. (Since when had Lisbon become so laid back about professional distance?) The most he could allow himself to feel was impatience that Lisbon would be here, dallying with her new beau, when there were crimes that needed solving. Would she ever have let such a thing distract her in the old days at the CBI?

But that was the old Lisbon, the one he had known intimately—not sexually, but at the very heart of her character, her hopes, dreams, passions... everything that had made her uniquely herself. This new Lisbon was a stranger to him. Partly her choice, she had avoided being alone with him for months, finding excuses every time he sought her out. Partly because Abbott and Fischer had been shy of assigning them to the same tasks since that first time that he ran away—and why had that only changed after Pike demonstrated his interest in Teresa?

But mostly, he had to admit, because it was painful for him to see how she had changed, how high her walls towards him had been built, in the two years that he was absent. Walls of suspicion, guilt, anger, grief, doubt.

Pain.

That had been the hardest to see. On that one fateful plane ride, when she had set him straight about whose life he had been manipulating and rearranging, he had been unable at first to read her, to understand why she was not as warm to him as he had hoped and expected. And then she had let loose. He had seen the full spectrum of her anger on a variety of occasions over the years, but this was something else again. The subtext of her (otherwise relatively subdued) tirade was loud and clear. He had hurt her. Badly. Not carelessly and from neglect, but deliberately and with full knowledge of the probable damage. It was only her considerable strength and courage that had pulled her back from a shattered heart and life and enabled her to rebound and rebuild.

Seeing this wasn't nearly as bad as finding her bled out on his bed, but it was painful enough. It felt far too familiar.

As he walked towards the elevator, Abbott called his name. Chafing, Jane turned to face him. "Have you spoken to Lisbon?" Abbott asked, him.

"Yes, I think she can tear herself away from Agent Pike to join us. Cho's already gone down to the Airstream."

Abbott's eyes were searching, but if he thought the hint of irritation in Jane's voice was unusual, he gave no sign. "Go easy on her, Jane. She cares about this case, too. She just has other things on her mind."

Jane bit his tongue to hold back back from several less than civil replies. The one that finally passed his internal censor was spoken with a mocking smile, mildly enough that even Lisbon might not have heard the bitterness. "Up until now she has never been this distractible. You would think that she has never had attention from a man before. Don't worry, she'll get used to it, eventually."

Jane saw Abbott's eyebrows rise, and wondered why the senior agent was so taken aback by this reply. Saying things calculated to shock and offend was Jane's stock in trade, but this comment was meant to sound offhand. Had he miscalculated his delivery?

He scanned for meaning in Abbott's nonverbal signals. The boss knew something. Something he had thought that Jane would already know. But something in Jane's words or mannerisms made him wonder… Abbott glanced towards the break room, and then back at Jane. There was the merest trace of pity in Abbott's eyes.

_I don't want to know._

Jane excused himself hastily, striding past the elevator and opening the stairwell door, knowing that he needed to get rid of some frustration if he was going to be calm and pleasant and rational on this ride. He knew that this case had gotten under his skin. The girl might have been Charlotte's age, light hair, terrified by the approach of death… and once again he had been too late.

He took the steps quickly, a patter like the rhythmic drumming of distracted fingers on a table. It wasn't Lisbon's fault that the girl had died. A few minutes earlier would still have been too late. Who else but Teresa would have come so quickly, on so little information? Who else trusted him that much? At least when it came to professional hunches. And yet… what had she been doing with Pike when he called? What would make leaving their date such a hardship for her, to the point that once again she was suspicious of his motives in calling her? Her voice had sounded breathless on the phone, but the background noises suggested somewhere out in the open. He had tried not to listen for more clues, not to read her face when she arrived. He had found, since Pike and Lisbon had been dating, that his imagination went into overdrive on a hair-trigger when it came to their personal activities. _Not my business not my business not my business _was his mantra, keeping pace with his echoing footsteps, winding back and forth, spiraling downward.

And out at the ground floor, heading for the exit just short of a run, Jane tried not to remember the times he had forgotten how much he really did not want to know the details of Teresa's new relationship. Including that first night, after the art con had successfully ended, and he had surprised them on their way out.

Where are we going?

Teresa's flushed, excited face, glowing from well-deserved admiration, falling slightly. Guilt? Disappointment? Uncertain how to answer, but Jane had read her face too well, and it almost broke him. _Not now, Jane, I've been looking forward to this…_

And Pike's awkward embarrassment. _Is she going to tell him he's not invited? Should I?_

Fortunately, Jane had regained his composure quickly. Before Pike had done what he figured Lisbon wanted him to do, inviting Jane along as a third wheel, he had sent them on their way, mask firmly in place, trying not to wonder what their plans were, or how this had developed so quickly. Was there more to this than the brief moment of flirting that he had witnessed in the art squad's private museum? How serious was Pike? How serious was Lisbon? Did she intend to make him jealous? Was he, in fact, jealous?

Deep down, he knew the answers to all those questions. But he couldn't bear to examine them.

Stopping at the door and looking back, Jane saw an elevator door opening, and paused, just in case he had the opportunity to walk Lisbon out to the Airstream. No such luck. She was making a long goodbye, no doubt. As she must have done the morning that they had investigated the explosion at the bus stop, and she had arrived late. In a cab. Lying blithely about her car not starting. Of course, he could almost always tell when she was lying. And he really hoped he was reading her cues wrong. No high voice, maybe she was really having car trouble.

He had not asked her about it later. He was afraid that she might get that confused look she sometimes got. If he had to remind her that she was having car trouble, it meant that the car was not the issue.

Jane strode out the front doors briskly, berating himself. It shouldn't matter what level of intimacy Lisbon and Pike had reached. But he knew full well why his chest tightened and his throat constricted when he caught glimpses of their private glances or overheard snatches of teasing conversations. He had failed to overcome his own desires and emotions with regard to Teresa. Even knowing how he had hurt her, even with every renewed evidence of his inability to be the good man that she needed, even watching time and time again as her face went from happy and excited to guilty and uncomfortable when she saw him… he couldn't forget. He couldn't stop wanting what he did not deserve, and could never have.

Sometimes he would have liked to burn the whole memory palace to the ground, rather than keep seeing what he had done to her, and feeling the aching gash of his longing for her that seemed to bleed him dry.

But for now, he had a chance to be near her while they did the one thing that most satisfied her. And some part of him couldn't help but hope that sharing this piece of his past might make her see him better, even remember what she had once loved about him back in Sacramento. But that was a fool's dream. It was enough that she seemed happy with the work, and sometimes, if he didn't look too closely, or think too deeply, he could pretend that her smiles were his doing. Whatever their real source, he didn't need to know.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't even own a decent word processor or a tool for connecting with the internet easily, let alone The Mentalist.**

**AN: Thank you to anyone who was waiting for this second chapter. I hope it is worth the wait. If readers have interest and patience, I have more questions to answer. Like what does Abbott need not to know? And how does Cho manage to work law enforcement for 12 years with emotional blinders on?**

**But first I really want to finish Lisbon's chapter of The Illusion of Control. The working title is "Driven", although there is a strong temptation to call it "Pot, Meet Kettle; Kettle, Pot." There will be blatant Jisbon interaction, which I find both thrilling and terrifying to write. Also, that story is now officially AU, since post Blue Bird my Cho clearly knows too much. At first I found that disappointing, but now I relish the license too take the story in a direction I find personally very exciting, someplace the show was never likely to go.**

Need Not to Know

Chapter 2

Teresa dragged her eyes back to Marcus as Jane turned and walked away from the break room, but the image of Jane's face was still in the forefront of her mind. Something in his manner troubled her, but she couldn't put her finger on it. She blinked, reminding herself that it wasn't her job to work out Jane's issues. But the unease could not be easily banished.

"Hey," Marcus' voice finally brought her back to her senses. "What's up? What girl? Is this a new case?"

Teresa shook herself, trying to shut out of her mind the hollow, guarded expression on Patrick Jane's face when he found her here with Marcus. "Yes, this is the girl that Jane and I found last night…"

"The one who died." Marcus reached for her hand and squeezed, his eyes searching hers. "Well, no wonder Jane was so distracted. How's he dealing with it?"

_Distracted didn't even begin to cover it_, Teresa thought, but out loud she said, "Jane's dealt with worse in his life. He'll put all his efforts into this case."

Marcus furrowed his brows and looked down, the earlier playful mood completely gone. "No matter how much you see, the pain never really goes away, though, does it?" He shook his head sadly. "That's why I transferred to the art squad, we don't often deal with tragedies like that." He shook his head as though to clear it. "Should I pack this up for you? You can eat on the way…"

"No, no," she assured him hastily, "Just set it in the fridge for me, I'll heat it up when I get back." She saw his face fall minutely, and continued, in a lower, more intimate tone, "or you could bring it to my house and we'll have it for dinner after work…" His eyes lit up, as she knew that they would. He always seemed happy for more time with her, and the least evidences of intimacy delighted him endlessly. So she had given him a key to her home after he had asked about D.C., as a way of stalling for time.

It had shocked her from their very first date how eager he was to be with her. It had continued to amaze her how his feelings for her had deepened so quickly, and how he expressed them so easily. Utterly unused to such a demonstrative partner, she alternated between feeling deeply touched and slightly smothered. She didn't dare ask herself if she should have expected this from her relationships from the start. Had she been settling for scraps of affection when she could have had more? Or was there something in her own nature that was uncomfortable with emotional closeness? She didn't want to dig too deeply here. What if she were to find that she just wasn't the sort of person who could truly enjoy intimate relationships? What would she do then?

"It's a date. " Marcus' voice snapped her back into focus. "I'll see you at your place later." He leaned in for a kiss, and though she stiffened, knowing that colleagues could easily observe them here, she didn't pull away. She tried hard to balance her desire to reciprocate his affection with her intention to behave in a professional manner at work.

Typically, Marcus seemed oblivious to her inner conflict. She knew that Jane would have seen through her in a second.

She pulled back first, as usual, but kept her eyes on his, so full of the love and affection that she hungered for. Why was she still so unsatisfied when he was offering her his heart and his life so freely?

"Later," she agreed, letting her gaze fall to his lips. How long had she gone without this feeling? Being wanted, cherished, was a heady sensation. It made her voice husky, inviting. But she pulled back even as he leaned in for more.

With a rueful smile, Marcus took the hint. "Duty calls, right?" His eyes were full of yearning, and she felt the pleasant flutter of answering desire which usually served to cover her feelings of guilt when he looked at her that way. She wished, not for the first time, that her feelings for Marcus could be as strong as his feelings for her.

She turned away, remembering to throw a few lingering glances back as she gathered her things from her desk. It seemed ungrateful to dismiss him so easily when he had tried so hard to do something nice for her. In fact, he was always so effusive in his admiration of her, so warm and passionate in their physical relationship, and so thoughtful in his romantic gestures, that she felt she owed it to him to put more effort into responding in kind. She knew far too well what it felt like to love deeply when love was not returned. Marcus deserved better than that from her.

She was not at all used to being the one whose feelings were less intense in any given relationship. It made her feel as if she were leading him on, even though she had so far made no commitments to him. She had never said that she loved him. She had only acknowledged the potential.

The guilt was more acute since he had asked her to come with him to D.C. How could she turn him down flat when he had plainly shown his own willingness to forgo an incredible opportunity in the mere hope of maintaining their relationship? But how could she say yes when she was just beginning to feel settled here, hitting her stride in the FBI, making a real difference in her career of choice at a level she hadn't ever dreamed of before? How could she turn away from that for a relationship whose future was uncertain?

She was aware that in her CBI days, she would never have considered such a thing. But that was before she came to fully accept that Patrick Jane was not interested in her except as a colleague. During most of their decade-long partnership, she had at first ignored and then denied her feelings for him, telling herself again and again that his playful banter and his mild flirtation meant nothing. He seemed keen to cooperate with this strategy himself. As for those few times when it seemed that his feelings might be deeper than he would admit, his subsequent evasions were a source of both disappointment and relief. She could barely handle him as a consultant. How could she hope to maintain any control of her life if he became more to her than just a co-worker?

In spite of her reservations, she could not stifle the admiration and attraction that continued to grow inside her. Her feelings towards him became more intense the closer he got to his goal of vengeance. And then it was over, and he was gone, and she had pieced together her life without the relationship that she had come to value above all others. She couldn't blame him for leaving. He had suffered enough at the hands of Red John and during his long hunt. She didn't like to think about whether she had really meant anything to him other than a tool for his vengeance. She wanted to think so, but remembering the many times that he had lied to her or taken advantage of her loyalty to him could turn a restless night into an ordeal of self-doubt.

If it weren't for his letters, she might have gone insane. She might have decided that she had imagined the way he used to look at her, sometimes. She might have concluded that his touch was only ever a means to pick her pocket or misdirect her attention. She might have convinced herself that when she thought perhaps he might feel something for her as a woman, it was mostly wishful thinking and a showman's sleight-of-hand.

And perhaps she would have been right.

As it was, she had been certain that she would never see him again, and had lulled her longings to sleep in the little community where she finally found work and a sort of home.

Then Patrick Jane came back to the states, with his usual swagger and bluster and a clear intention of seeing her again. His face when they met was so full of joy, his arms around her had felt so good, it had brought her wilder fancies roaring back like a hurricane. And the aftermath of his return threw her life into chaos once again. But she would have welcomed the chaos, if only she could have sensed that his feelings for her were more than just a need for comfort and familiarity. If he had treated her as more than a convenience, a necessary commodity to make his stint at the FBI bearable.

Her hopes for something more had slowly eroded since then. First he had run away again, stirring her fear of abandonment to the point that she lashed out at him in anger. Then he had kept his distance. Perhaps he was trying to avoid manipulating her or making decisions for her, she thought. But he also began treating her like she might break or explode at any moment, almost as if he was afraid of her. His wary, wounded expression seemed to be a regular feature of every interaction. It hurt, and she herself didn't understand why it made her so angry.

But the truth slowly dawned on her as the weeks went by. She knew that he must have seen how desperately she loved him. Why else would she leave a good job to start over from scratch at the FBI? Why else would she have stuck by him for all those years, trusting him in the teeth of all evidence of his obsessive nature and supporting him even to the point of aiding his personal vengeance? Why else would she absorb the pain of having her emotions manipulated by him? Why would she put up with being played for a fool again and again?

How could brilliant Patrick Jane miss something as obvious as her feelings for him?

He could not have missed them. It must be that he couldn't return her feelings. Perhaps his loyalty to his long-dead wife shut him off from all possibility of romantic love with anyone else. She could understand that, although it was a bitter pill to swallow. Or perhaps Patrick Jane, like herself, found emotional intimacy so terrifying that it made true connection too painful. Again, a sad possibility, but she could hardly blame him after the trauma that he had suffered.

Or maybe he never had really cared for her beyond what he could get from her. She could not wholly believe this, but the possibility was so distressing to contemplate that she avoided the question entirely.

Since she first admitted to herself that Jane's feelings for her were no deeper than her admiration for Cho, or her fond camaraderie with Rigsby, or her grudging respect for Abbott, she had been trying to convince herself that her feelings for Jane had been merely infatuation. She latched onto his every lapse as further evidence that he wasn't really good relationship material, anyway. And she didn't let herself ever question why it bothered her so much that his apologies never seemed to change his behavior, or why he kept leaving her out of consideration in things like rescue attempts, or why he would dress her up sexy and pose as her boyfriend and then keep her at arms length, criticizing her best attempts to play along with his plans.

So when Marcus expressed interest, the possibility of a good, honest, simple, straightforward relationship was an opportunity not to be missed. And with all its challenges, the relationship had rebuilt her flagging self-confidence. It healed most of the sting of an unspoken rejection. It had even, she fancied, simplified and refocused her working relationship with Jane. At least, in some ways.

"Hey, Lisbon," Teresa was startled by Fischer's voice, so close the desk where she had paused to reflect.. She stood and faced the other agent, trying to look alert and ready for the next assignment. But Kim only smiled warmly. "I meant to tell you how impressed I was with how you and Jane handled the situation last night. Don't you two ever go off-duty?"

Lisbon grimaced. "Apparently Jane doesn't. He called me in the middle of a date, actually."

Kim chuckled. "He only recognizes boundaries when it suits him. At least this time it was in a good cause, right? Good thing you knew to back him up quickly."

A wave of guilt passed over Teresa like nausea. Her conscience prodded her to confess. "I almost didn't go. And when I got there I wasn't too pleasant about it. I even accused him of making it up to interfere with my date."

Kim's eyebrows shot up, but she regained composure and said with a wry smile, "Well, I wouldn't put it past him. But I think your instincts for how far Jane can be trusted are pretty reliable. I'm glad that Abbott gave the okay for you two to work more closely. You make a good team. We're so glad to have you both with us." Fischer turned towards Wiley's desk with a backward glance and a wink. "Keep up the good work!"

More guilt. Fischer clearly did not know that Lisbon was considering moving on. But then, even Lisbon herself wasn't sure how seriously she was considering it. She had told Marcus that she was still thinking about it. At what point did thinking about it require that she inform her team?

At least Jane wasn't making a big deal of it. She was sure that he must know what was on her mind, just like he always seemed to know other things that he shouldn't. He had known the first night she came to work after an over-night with Marcus. He had known that she had plans with Marcus that one time when he arranged a helicopter so that she could get back in time. She was even certain that he must know how conflicted she was in this relationship. Once, approaching a suspect's home, she had taken a call from Marcus about planning an evening together. Jane had been so strange afterward, avoiding her eyes, looking pained. Rather like that look in the break room when he found her with Pike.

She had been tormented by guilt on that occasion, too. Certain that Jane must see that she had mixed feelings about how quickly the relationship was moving. She almost expected him to call her on it, but given the opportunity to voice his thoughts, he had been reticent. What a nice change, what a relief, she told herself, that he was giving her space to work through her personal life without interference. Yet somehow there was a hint of regret in her mix of emotions, too. Maybe because she rather missed the days when he would get in her business so shamelessly, calling her out when she tried to hide, even from herself.

Obviously, it couldn't be that she was hoping he would be jealous. Teresa Lisbon never played games like that. It wasn't her style.


End file.
